


Move Like Water, Break Like Waves

by Sena



Series: Hold This Rope [3]
Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, BDSM, Caning, Coming Out, Established Relationship, Flogging, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Romance, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-02
Updated: 2011-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:18:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sena/pseuds/Sena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>... he thinks about how happy he is right in that moment, just sitting in the sun in their backyard, watching Brendon trying to coax their dog into the pool.  This is his life, <i>their</i> life, his and Brendon's together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"You know what I love more than anything in the entire world?" Brendon asks, bouncing on his toes.

"Your swimming pool?" Spencer asks.

Brendon grins at him. "Our fucking swimming pool. It's _ours_ , Spencer. We own it. We own a house with a fucking swimming pool."

Spencer says, "You own it. Technically, I'm just a squatter."

Brendon rolls his eyes. "Not the point. The point is, we have a fucking swimming pool."

"We sure do," Spencer says, and looks back down at his book.

"Come swimming with me," Brendon says. "Spencer, Spencer, hey, come on, come swimming."

"Later," Spencer says. He takes a sip of his beer and flips a page in his book. He's reading _The Road_ by Cormac McCarthy, and it's actually Ryan's book, left in Brendon's practice room some time in the spring, probably, some time when they'd all still been pretending the split wasn't inevitable. It's depressing as shit, and Spencer rarely gives up on books once he starts them, but if he doesn't see a thread of hope soon he's going to put it down and never pick it back up again.

When his phone rings, he's thankful for an excuse to put the book down. He picks up and says, "Hey, Mom."

"Well," she says. "You are alive. I was beginning to wonder."

Spencer smiles wryly and rolls his eyes. He shifts a little lower on the deck chair and tips his face up to the sun and says, "I know I haven't called in a while."

"Oh?" she asks. "I hadn't noticed."

Spencer watches Brendon trying to coax Bogart into the pool. He's sitting on one of the steps in the shallow end saying, "Come on, boy, come on, you can do it. You're the bravest dog in the world! And you can dog paddle for sure, it's built into your genes. Come on, come here."

"He doesn't like the water," Spencer calls. "Sorry, Mom. Brendon's trying to get Bogart to swim with him."

"He's not just throwing him into the pool, is he?"

"No, he's trying to talk him into it. He's been trying to talk him into it all summer. Brendon, he's a dog, he doesn't understand what you're saying."

"Don't listen to Spencer," Brendon tells Bogart. "You and I both know you're a genius."

"I should let you get back to the pool," his mother says.

"Oh, no, it's all right. I'm just sitting in the sun. I might swim later, but I'm not feeling it right now. What's new on the home front?"

His mother tells him about work and the new restaurant they'd tried earlier that week with delicious pulled pork sandwiches. She tells him things about Jackie and Crystal that Spencer already knows because they text each other all the time, but he pretends like it's news.

Brendon's given up on trying to get Bogart to swim and he's doing laps. Spencer watches him move through the water, watches as his bare shoulders break the surface. There are still some bruises on his upper back. They're faint, but Spencer can make them out. He smiles as he remembers giving them to Brendon, as he remembers the way Brendon had shuddered and moaned beneath the thuddy blows of the buffalo hide flogger.

He thinks maybe he'll pull that out of the toy box later. Just looking at it gets Brendon worked up and, well, it does look really cool. Spencer had dropped two hundred dollars on it, hand tanned and dyed, hand sewn with a braided, perfectly balanced handle. He thinks he'll go inside in a little while and just lay it on the end of the bed where Brendon will see it.

Brendon stops swimming laps and floats on his back, arms and legs spread wide. He dips under the water, then comes back up on the other side of the pool. He comes over to the edge closest to Spencer and rests his arms on the edge of the pool and makes a face, mouth twisted and nostrils flared, one eye rolling back in his head, that makes Spencer bite his lip to keep from laughing. Brendon does laugh, and he rests his chin on his arms and smiles at Spencer and kicks his legs in the water behind him.

"Oh, and the most lovely young woman started work last week," Spencer's mother says. "Her name is Emily, she's twenty-two, and she's single."

Spencer says, "Mom."

"She's just beautiful, and so sweet," his mother says.

He says, "Mom, seriously, no."

She says, "It's been a long time, honey. I'm sorry that things didn't work out with Haley, but you've just got to get back on the horse, get back out there and date again. You deserve to have someone good in your life."

Spencer watches as Brendon swims over to the far side of the pool where Bogart's napping in the shade of a palm tree. "Come on, buddy," Brendon says. "Seriously, I know if you tried it you'd have so much fun. Wishbone swam all the time!"

Spencer thinks about calling out, _I'm pretty sure Wishbone had a stunt double_ , but then his brain stutters and he thinks about how happy he is right in that moment, just sitting in the sun in their backyard, watching Brendon trying to coax their dog into the pool. This is his life, _their_ life, his and Brendon's together. He says, "I, um, actually. I'm seeing someone."

"Really?" she asks. "Spencer James! You're seeing someone and that's not the first thing you told me?"

He says, "Maybe because I knew you'd overreact."

"I am not overreacting. Tell me everything about her. What's her name?"

Spencer says, "His name, Mom."

His mother is silent.

"Mom, come on. You knew that was a possibility. I told you when I was, like, fourteen."

"I thought maybe it was just a phase," she says softly.

"It wasn't."

She says, "I guess not."

"Is this going to be a problem?"

"No," she says. "No, no, of course not. I just didn't. I didn't expect it, that's all. And this is a hard road to take. Your life is going to be just that much more difficult because you're with a man, so if you could choose to be with a woman, instead--"

Spencer says, "I know you mean well, but that's bullshit."

She says, "Honey."

"It is. It's bullshit. This has very little impact on my life, okay? I don't live in, like, rural Kansas in the 60s. Nobody's going to kick me out of my house or arrest me or, like, lynch me just because I'm in love with another man."

She says, "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know what you meant, and you're wrong. I don't know if I can even tell you how much I. Every time I just look at him, it's. It's different, Mom. It's...more. This is, like, it feels stupid to say it out loud, but I didn't even know I could feel like this. So." He huffs out a breath and frowns. "You're worried about this making my life difficult, but it doesn't. It's amazing, okay? So be happy for me. Please."

His mother says, "Spencer."

Spencer feels embarrassed and exposed and he pulls his knees to his chest and closes his eyes. He says, "I'm so in love with him, Mom."

His mother says, "I'm happy for you, sweetheart." She sounds like she might even mean it. She sighs and says, "So. Tell me about this amazing young man of yours."

Spencer looks up and sees that Brendon's got Bogart in the shallow end of the pool. He's got one hand under Bogart's chest, the other hand scratching behind his ears. He says, "See? See how fun this is? You're the bravest dog ever, dude. Look at you, you're swimming!" And Bogart looks like he's having fun, tail wagging and tongue lolling out to one side.

Spencer says, "It's Brendon. He and I, we're. We've been together for a while."

"Oh," his mother says.

He laughs humorlessly and says, "Not exactly what you wanted to hear when you called, was it?"

She says, "I called to hear your voice and because I wanted to know what was going on in your life. So, actually, yes, it's exactly what I wanted to hear."

Spencer closes his eyes and says, "Thank you."

He hears her take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "All right," she says. "So, you and Brendon. You should come for a visit. You should come for a visit and we can take you out to dinner, the both of you, now that he's your, well. Am I allowed to tell your father?"

"Yeah," Spencer says. "It's not. We haven't told people, yet, but it's not a secret or anything."

"This weekend," she says. "I'll make reservations at Roy's. The brown butter seared salmon is to die for."

Spencer says, "That's maybe not. It might be too soon."

"You said you've been together for a while."

"We have. And looking back, it feels like maybe it was always building up to this, but he doesn't know I'm telling you. And it might take him a while to get comfortable with the idea."

"But he's known us for years. And he knows we love him."

"He knows you love my best friend. I don't know if he'll be convinced that you love my boyfriend."

"Then we'll convince him. We'll take you out to dinner just like we would with anyone else you were dating."

"Are you sure Dad's going to be okay with this?"

"We did talk about it, Spencer, when you told us you were bisexual. We talked about it a lot, and we're both okay with it. We thought maybe with Haley, well. In the end, the important thing is that you're happy. I know that sounds like a platitude, but it's true."

Spencer says, "Okay. We'll, um, we'll drive up on Friday. Should we get a hotel room or--"

"No, of course not. Of course the two of you can stay here. Should I make the reservation for four, or should I invite Grace and Boyd, too?"

"Oh, Jesus Christ, no," Spencer says. "They don't even know he's gay, Mom."

She sighs and says, "I thought maybe they didn't. Okay. Dinner for four. Do you want Roy's or, well, no, the Vintner Grill would be nicer."

"Wherever you want," he says. "It doesn't have to be fancy."

"It's a special occasion, Spencer. We'll go to the Vintner Grill."

They talk for a little while longer, finalizing their plans, and when Spencer hangs up, Brendon and Bogart are still in the shallow end of the pool and while Brendon's got his hands just underneath Bogart's body, he's not holding him up and Bogart's paddling happily on his own.

Spencer comes to sit on the edge of the pool and he lets his legs dangle into the water. "That was my mom on the phone," he says.

"Yeah?" Brendon asks. "What's up in the land of Ginger? Look at him, Spence, he's doing it! I told you he'd like swimming."

Spencer smiles and slips into the pool in his shorts and t-shirt. He wades over to them and Bogart swims to him, tail wagging. He picks Bogart up out of the water and scratches behind his ears and says, "Look at you, buddy."

Bogart licks his face. Spencer laughs and sets Bogart down on the deck and watches as he shakes himself off, then settles down with his nose over the edge, watching them.

"Everything okay?" Brendon asks.

Spencer sighs and sits on the middle pool step, the water rising almost to his shoulders. "Yeah. Everything's great. I don't want you to be pissed, but if you are, I'll understand."

Brendon frowns and makes his way over to the steps, sits next to Spencer and says. "What happened?"

"I realized that I don't want to go through life, like, keeping a secret like this. I want everybody I love to know how happy I am right now."

Brendon's smile is breathtaking. He says, "I'm happy, too."

"So I told her. About us. Because I don't want to hide something so fucking great from her, from any of them."

Brendon slides a little closer and wraps his arms around Spencer's shoulders and says, "I'm not pissed."

They kiss, and Bogart barks at them because he always seems to think it means they're eating something he's not allowed to have.

Spencer laughs as they pull apart and says, "Okay. So. My family knows I'm in love with you, now. Or they will, soon. She's probably calling my dad right now."

"They're cool with it?" Brendon asks, chewing on his full lower lip. Spencer wants to bite it.

"I told them I was bi when I was in ninth grade," Spencer says. "And they've known you were gay for years, now, so, yeah. They're cool with it. And they want us to come visit this weekend so they can take us out to dinner."

Brendon looks dubious.

"That's a good thing, Brendon. It's what they did when they found out I was dating Haley. It's what they do with Crystal and Jackie's boyfriends. It's...it'll be good."

Brendon says, "This weekend?"

"I told her we'd drive up on Friday. We don't have to. She knows I wanted to talk to you about it, first. But if you're okay with it, yeah. This weekend."

Brendon says, "I've never met anybody's parents before. I mean, not that I'm meeting them for the first time or anything. Just. I've never been, you know, somebody's boyfriend and gone out to dinner with their parents."

"It'll be like every other time we've had dinner with my folks, only now they know how we feel about each other."

Brendon nods, but his mouth is nervous and tight.

"We don't have to go."

"I want to," Brendon says.

"You don't have to say that if it's not true."

"No, I do. I want to go. Just. This is kind of...huge."

Spencer runs his fingers through Brendon's wet hair and says, "I think you and me getting together is what was huge. This is just details."

Brendon kisses him hard, then nips at his bottom lip and grins wide and delighted. "Every time I think you can't be any more amazing, you go and say shit like that."

Spencer grins and tips their foreheads together and puts his hand over Brendon's chest so he can feel the soothing thump of his heart.

Later that afternoon, after a lunch of pasta with grilled eggplant, after they've rinsed the chlorine off their skin and off their dog's fur, they're sitting close on the sofa, making out lazily and thinking about flipping through Netflix instant and seeing if there's anything they want to watch.

"Can we play tonight?" Brendon asks, running his fingers up and down the inside of Spencer's arm.

Spencer nods and says, "What were you thinking about?"

"I want," Brendon says. He sighs and looks embarrassed. It's always so hard for him to ask Spencer for things. He can rattle off random fantasies and scenarios like nobody's business, but when it comes to telling Spencer exactly what he wants, he gets shy.

"Come here," Spencer says, and shifts so Brendon can curl up against him. "Tell me. Whatever you want, okay?"

"I want you to hurt me," Brendon says softly. "I've been thinking about it a lot and I want. I want you to leave marks."

Spencer rubs his back and says, "The black flogger?"

Brendon nods, and he's already starting to squirm. He takes a shaky breath and says, "No. Maybe to start. But I want." He presses his face to Spencer's shoulder. "I want you to use the cane. And not like before, not just lightly to warm me up. I want you to hit me the way you do when you're practicing with it."

"I hit those pillows really hard, Brendon. I've broken, like, four canes just in practice."

"Not lately. I've watched you, and you've got a lot of control and, fuck, Spence, watching you practice, thinking about how one day you're going to hit me like that." He's trembling, equal parts scared and excited. "You can warm me up with the flogger. I know how much you like it."

Spencer grins. He really does. He's smacked himself with it, on his arms and thighs, and it's a fierce, heavy thump followed by a sharp sting. He's smacked himself with the cane, too, back before he'd had months of practice, and he'd wrapped it around the side of his thigh and broken the skin. That had hurt like a motherfucker and he's been working on perfecting his aim ever since.

"Warm me up with the flogger and then I think, I think I can probably take ten strokes."

Spencer takes a deep breath. He says, "Okay. Go upstairs and strip the bed. Put on the play sheets and the ramp. Then I want you to shower and get yourself ready for me. Put in the red silicone plug. Then I want you to kneel over the ramp, face down, arms above your head, and I want you to wait for me."

"Now?" Brendon asks, pulling back and looking up at Spencer with frightened eyes.

"Now," Spencer tells him.

"But I, I thought maybe we'd--"

Spencer grabs him by the hair and yanks his head back sharply. He says, "Right the fuck now, Brendon. You do want me to hurt you, right?"

"Yes," Brendon whispers.

"Then do what I fucking tell you to do or I'm not laying a goddamn hand on your for weeks, and I'll lock your cock up so you can't even come. Do you want that? You want me to put a cage on you and never touch you and make you sleep in the guest room?"

"No," Brendon says, shaking his head even though Spencer's still got him by the hair. "No, no, Spencer, please."

"Then go get ready."

The second Spencer lets go, Brendon's up off the couch and hurrying upstairs.

Spencer takes a deep breath and presses the heel of his hand against his cock. Then he gets up and pours himself a glass of water. He drinks it slowly, then puts the glass in the dishwasher. He hears the shower start and he calls to Bogart and puts him out in his run, grassy and attached to the side of the house where Bogart can play outside alone without fear of a coyote snatching him.

Spencer opens the fridge and looks through it for a while, pulls out a flat of strawberries and rinses them, then takes off the stems and slices them into a bowl. He sets the bowl on the counter, cleans the sink and the knife and the cutting board. He grabs two large bottles of water and sets them next to the strawberries.

He eats a couple strawberries and waits for the shower to stop. Once it does, he eats a couple more strawberries and props himself up on the kitchen counter and grabs one of the take-out menus they have next to the fridge. He reads through the appetizers and the salads, the entrees, the desserts. He reads through the description of everything on their wine list. When he's done, he picks up another menu and reads the ingredients on every one of their specialty pizzas. The spicy shrimp pizza actually sounds pretty good.

He gets down off the counter and picks up the strawberries and the water. He carries them upstairs and walks slowly towards the guest room, which has become their playroom. They took out the queen bed Spencer had been sleeping on and replaced it with a twin. It was easier to maneuver around that way, and there was more room for the things they talked about buying, like a paddling bench.

Brendon's naked on the bed, kneeling and bent over a black foam wedge. Spencer follows the long line of his back with his eyes, trailing from the base of Brendon's spine all the way up to where Brendon's arms are stretched up past his head. Spencer sets the bowl of berries and the water on the floor and squats down next to their toy box. It's a heavy-duty Rubbermaid chest with a hinged lid. Spencer opens it and takes the black flogger out of its bag. He stands and lets it dangle from his right hand, slapping the tails against his leg just hard enough that Brendon can hear him.

He stops at the edge of the bed and looks down at Brendon for a long moment. He's ridiculously beautiful, soft skin over sharp muscle and bone. Spencer watches his muscles tense, watches him try not to wiggle or squirm, watches his ribs expand as he takes deep, slow breaths.

Spencer lifts the flogger and lets the tails brush gently over the bottoms of Brendon's feet. He drags it up slowly, just barely touching Brendon's calves and thighs, trailing the falls over his ass, his back, all the way to his fingertips.

Brendon shivers and he moans softly, nervously. Spencer trails the flogger gently back down his body and says, "Tell me your safeword."

"Fender," Brendon whispers.

Spencer says, "Good." He lays the flogger on the bed next to Brendon's thigh. He goes back to the toy box and pulls out the first aid kid. He doesn't know if he'll need it, but he likes knowing it's right there, stocked and ready to go. He takes his time checking for antiseptic wipes and bandages, latex gloves, safety scissors.

He's zipping the kit back up and setting it next to the strawberries when he hears Brendon start to whimper. He's working himself up, breaths quick and shallow though he's struggling to keep them slow. Spencer always wants to jump right in and touch him, reassure him, but he knows Brendon has to learn to wait.

He keeps his collection of rattan canes in the closet since they're too long to fit in the toy box. On the website's suggestion, he'd bought several different lengths to see which ones he liked best. He tried them all, on himself and on pillows and very gently on Brendon, and eventually he'd broken them all. The style he really likes is a little over two feet long and very maneuverable now that he's learned how to precisely land each blow and how to make sure the tip never wraps. They come in packs of ten for thirty dollars, and Spencer's got six left.

He takes one and runs his hands over it carefully, feeling for splinters or knots. When he's satisfied that it's smooth, he walks back over to the bed and lays it gently over Brendon's calves.

Brendon whimpers and shifts from knee to knee before stilling. Spencer slides the cane up Brendon's legs, over his ass, and back down again. He takes a practice swing, slicing the cane through the air just to hear the sound. Brendon whimpers again, high in his throat, keeps whimpering soft and afraid.

Spencer lays the cane on the ground next to the toy box and walks around to the other side of the bed. He touches the small of Brendon's back with his fingertips, and Brendon jumps.

Spencer says, "Tell me your safeword again."

"Fender," Brendon whispers.

"Do you want to safeword right now?"

"No."

"Do you want me to hurt you?"

Brendon takes a deep breath.

"Brendon, do you want me to hurt you?"

"Yes," he says, so softly Spencer barely hears it.

Spencer says, "Okay," and starts with his hand. He loves the sting of it on his palm, the sharp crack as it comes down hard on Brendon's ass. He likes the feel of Brendon's skin beneath his hands, likes to rest his free hand on Brendon's back and feel his muscles tense and jerk.

When his hand starts to get sore, he rubs his palm over Brendon's cheeks, quickly pinking up from the blows. He presses his thumb into the base of the plug in Brendon's ass. He loves making Brendon wear the red once since it's so thick that Brendon has to work to get it in and it's never in danger of popping out. Sometimes he makes Brendon put it in before they go out, and when they get to the grocery store he'll whisper, "Everyone can tell you're wearing a butt plug, Brendon. Everyone can tell just by looking at you what a dirty fucking slut you are." And Brendon will squirm and blush and Spencer will get the reward of an extra horny and affectionate Brendon once they get home.

He presses on the base of the plug and says, "You look so good like this. You were made to be fucked, baby. Are you my little fuck slut?"

"Yeah," Brendon says breathily. He doesn't sound afraid anymore.

"My little fuck slut," says Spencer, picking up the flogger with his right hand and sliding the loop over his wrist. He rubs Brendon's back with his left hand, says, "My little pain slut."

Brendon cries out when Spencer brings the flogger down on his ass. Spencer's not even hitting with half his strength, but he doesn't have to. The thick leather falls of the flogger do most of the work for him. He strikes at Brendon's upper back, aiming the tips to snap against the skin just to the inside of his shoulder blades. He trails the flogger down Brendon's spine and across his lower back to tease, but he never strikes him there. He alternates between thighs and shoulders and ass and calves, watching as the skin starts to turn pink with every blow.

He's got a good rhythm going and he could keep going for hours. He has a lot of arm and upper-body strength from years and years of drumming, so even when his muscles start to burn he can easily push past it. He doesn't keep going, though. He stops just when Brendon's skin is turning pink.

When he stops, Brendon sighs and squirms and shifts his hips.

"You good to keep going?" Spencer asks, rubbing the small of his back.

"Yeah," Brendon whispers.

"I'm going to try the cane out on you now, okay?"

Brendon whines softly and shifts his hips again and nods.

"Tell me your safeword."

"You know it already."

"I want you to tell me what it is, anyway."

"Fender," Brendon whispers.

Spencer says, "Okay," and he picks up the cane. He taps it over Brendon's feet, up his calves, not enough to hurt, just so Brendon knows it's there. He taps it against Brendon's ass, then pulls back and lines up, makes sure he's standing at a right angle so the cane won't wrap. He pulls back and the first blow isn't hard at all, but Brendon cries out and lifts his head up anyway.

"Okay?" Spencer asks, a little afraid that he actually hurt him. If he hurt him with a blow that gentle, there's no way Spencer will ever be able to hit him as hard as Brendon wants him to.

Brendon laughs nervously and says, "Yeah, yeah, just scared me. Kind of sharp but not, like, not even as bad as the flogger."

Spencer says, "Okay," and pulls back again. The next slice actually makes noise as it moves through the air, and Brendon moans and arches his shoulders in and whimpers the way he does when he's actually in pain.

There's a pale pink mark already fading from the first blow. The second blow is more interesting, two parallel dark pink lines with white between them, the color slowly coming back into Brendon's skin.

"Hmm," Spencer says. "I didn't hear you thank me for those. I'm doing you a favor, Brendon, you asked me to do this to you, and you don't even say thank you?" He clucks his tongue and shakes his head, even though Brendon can't see him. "I think those two didn't count since you didn't thank me. I think we're starting over at the beginning."

Brendon whispers, "Oh, God."

"We're starting over from the beginning, and I want to hear you say thank you every time. Do you understand?"

Brendon sniffles and nods his head and says, "Yes. Thank you, Spencer."

Spencer goes back to where he'd been standing before, looks at Brendon's ass and the two soft pink lines across it. He looks at his arm and makes sure he's lined up and he pulls back and says, "One," and strikes Brendon just a little bit harder less than an inch up from the first blow.

Brendon says, "Thank you."

Spencer taps the cane gently against Brendon's ass as he chooses his next target. He wants to keep all the lines parallel, wants to space them out neatly, so he takes his time. The second strike comes without warning and Brendon cries out and gasps and says, "Thank you."

The third and fourth strikes come in rapid succession, but Spencer waits a full minute before the fifth, and nearly that long for the sixth. Brendon's trembling and he turns his head against his arm and Spencer realizes that he's crying, that he's wiping tears away.

"Should we start from the beginning because you're crying?" Spencer asks, running his fingers over the hot welts on Brendon's skin. "You don't seem very thankful. I think we should start over."

Brendon whines but he doesn't object.

Spencer says, "Are you okay? You want to keep going?"

Brendon nods, he says, "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please, Spencer," Brendon whispers. "Thank you. Thank you."

Spencer says, "You've got four left, and I'm really going to hit you now, okay?"

Brendon's just whispering, "Thank you, thank you, thank you," over and over again.

The seventh blow is harder than any of the last six, the eighth even harder than that. Brendon's sobbing openly, not for show or for pity, but just because he can't stop.

Spencer's out of room. There are ten parallel lines evenly spaced from the top of Brendon's ass to the bottom, and he's not comfortable moving even an inch higher and risking hitting bone. He takes a deep breath and makes a decision, lands the next blow diagonally across the others and Brendon lifts his head up and shouts. Spencer watches a tiny bead of blood well to the surface to his skin.

He says, "What do you say, Brendon?"

Brendon's whole body is shaking. He whispers, "Thank you," and his voice is thick and rough.

"One more. This one's going to be the worst."

Brendon shakes his head and he's shifting on his knees and his hands are clenching like he's close to pushing himself up.

"You're a such pain slut, baby. I know you can take one more. You could probably take twenty more. Should I do that? Should I give you twenty more?"

Brendon whispers, "No, no, no, no, no, no, no."

Spencer figures if he can't go up, he'll go down, and he lands the last blow on the lowest curve of Brendon's ass, almost where it meets his thighs. Brendon whines high and miserable and he chokes out, "Thank you," between his sobs.

Spencer puts the cane down next to the toy box, then returns to the bed. He rubs Brendon's shoulders gently, tugs one arm down from where it's been stretched overhead for so long and rubs the skin warm, then does the same thing for the other arm.

Spencer says, "Do you want to stay on your hands and knees like this while I fuck you, or do you want to be on your back?"

"'s good like this," Brendon slurs, head dropping down between his shoulders as he presses his hands into the mattress on either side of the wedge. He shifts and spreads his knees, arching his back so his ass sticks up further in the air.

"Such a good boy," Spencer purrs, climbing up onto the bed and kneeling between Brendon's legs. He presses on the plug in Brendon's ass then slowly starts to tug, and Brendon moans as his hole spreads wide to accommodate the thick flare. Once it's out, Spencer presses in easily, Brendon already slick and open.

He wants to fuck Brendon forever like this, look down and watch his cock sliding into Brendon's hole, see Brendon's ass covered in angry red welts with lines of purple along them, listen to Brendon cry while at the same time he presses back into Spencer's thrusts and lets out soft moans of pleasure.

He wants to fuck Brendon forever, but he's too worked up, has been too close for too long, and he just barely manages to pull out before he comes, spraying his spunk over Brendon's back and ass. He rubs his come into the welts and shivers with pleasure as Brendon moans and his breath hitches.

When Spencer pulls him up, he expects Brendon to curl into him, but instead Brendon shoves against his chest and pulls away. He whimpers as he tries to sit, then shoves the foam wedge off the bed and curls up on his side, knees to his chest, arms wrapped around himself.

Spencer says, "Brendon?" and reaches out for him, but doesn't touch.

Brendon's breath hitches and he's crying again. He's crying, soft and wretched little sobs that he clearly can't control.

Spencer takes a deep breath, then another. He doesn't know what to do. This hasn't ever happened before. He says, "Baby? Hey. It's all right." He touches Brendon's hair, not even running his fingers through it, just stroking it gently. Brendon doesn't flinch or pull away, so he takes that as a good sign. He sits there for a while, touching Brendon's hair, watching Brendon cry. His stomach is twisted and he swallows hard every time he thinks he wants to throw up. It hurts to watch Brendon cry like this, uncontrollably, and to know that it's his fault.

He pulls away after a while and starts to clean up. He thinks he probably needs to check the spot where he'd drawn blood, wipe it clean and put some Neosporin on it. He's just picking up the first aid kit when Brendon says, "Don't." He's still got his back to Spencer and he's still curled up on himself.

"Don't what?" Spencer asks softly.

"Don't leave me."

"I'm not. I won't." Spencer sits on the edge of the bed and reaches out to touch Brendon's hair again. Brendon relaxes just a tiny bit at the touch, so Spencer cards his fingers through Brendon's hair and says, "I'm right here, baby. I'm always right here."

"Are you mad at me?"

"No, God, why would I be?"

"I didn't say thank you," Brendon whispers. He's mostly stopped crying but his breath is still shaky and his voice is still thick. "And I couldn’t take twenty more. And I'm, I'm sorry, I want to stop crying. I'm trying to stop."

Spencer rubs his back and says, "There's no reason to be mad. You didn't do anything wrong. You said thank you so many times, B. And I wasn't ever going to give you twenty more, I just said that to scare you."

Brendon sniffs and nods and tips his head down so Spencer can scratch the back of his neck.

"You did so good," Spencer tells him. "I'm so proud of you."

Brendon shudders and he yawns so wide his jaw cracks. He shivers again and turns towards Spencer, placing his hand on the top of Spencer's thigh. He yawns and sniffles and scoots a little closer. He's still shaking a little bit, so Spencer grabs the bowl of strawberries and says, "Can you eat?"

Brendon nods and parts his lips when Spencer holds a sliced berry to his mouth. He doesn't feed Brendon a lot, just enough so he's satisfied his blood sugar won't drop. Brendon tips his head up for one more, and after Spencer gives it to him, he kisses Spencer's fingers.

"You ready for me to clean you up?" Spencer asks.

"Don't want a bath," Brendon tells him.

"That's fine. But I want to make sure you're okay. I know I broke the skin at least once."

"Kay," Brendon murmurs. He rolls onto his belly and pillows his head on his arms.

Spencer unzips the first aid kit and says, "Bet you're glad now I bought the expensive no-sting antiseptic pads."

"I could take the alcohol ones just fine," Brendon tells him.

"I just don't like the idea of putting something so harsh on your pretty little bottom," Spencer says.

Brendon laughs, short and gleeful. "You just _caned_ my pretty little bottom. Also, I'm going to make you call it my pretty little bottom from now on."

Spencer grins and rips open the antiseptic wipe. "This is going to be cold," he says before he wipes it over Brendon's skin, cleaning away sweat and come and a tiny little bit of blood. He leans over to inspect the break in Brendon's skin and is relieved to see that it's really just an abrasion and not an actual cut. He cleans it gently, then covers it with Neosporin and places a soft kiss beside it.

"Will you be okay here for a minute or two while I go get ice?" Spencer asks him.

"I'm good," Brendon says, and he's melting into the mattress the way he does when the endorphins reach their peak.

Spencer grabs a couple of ice packs out of the freezer and a handful of dishtowels, the hurries back upstairs. He says, "I told you I was coming back," when he sees Brendon in the hallway, one shoulder against the wall, the other arm held out to the side.

"Whoa, walking is hard," Brendon says, taking a shaky step forward. "Why so hard? Why can't I walk like a normal person?"

Spencer rolls his eyes and goes to wrap his arm around Brendon's waist. "You're high as a kite right now, baby."

Brendon hums happily and leans against Spencer and says, "Higher than a kite, even. What's higher than a kite?"

"A weather balloon," Spencer says.

"Your hands are cold."

"It's ice," Spencer says.

"For my pretty little bottom?" Brendon asks as Spencer steers him into their bedroom.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Do you want to sleep or just watch TV?"

"Sleep," Brendon says, crawling into bed. He's starting to pull the covers up when Spencer tugs them back down. "I'm cold," Brendon says sadly.

"I know. But if we're going to ice your ass, we have to do it right now."

"Pretty little bottom," Brendon corrects.

"Very pretty bottom," says Spencer. He lays a couple of dishtowels across Brendon's ass, then puts the ice packs over them. "Let me know if it's too cold. I'm not going to leave it long, but still."

Brendon sighs happily as Spencer pulls the covers back up and tucks them around his shoulders. "Sleep with me?"

Spencer toys with Brendon's hair and says, "I'm too wired to sleep, but I'm right here, okay?"

Brendon says, "Okay," and he's asleep within a minute.

Spencer presses one hand to his stomach and grimaces, then gets up and starts to put the playroom back in order. He strips the sheets off the mattress and the foam wedge, wipes down his flogger before putting it back in its bag in their toy box. He repacks the first aid kit, puts everything back in its place. He makes the bed with the everyday sheets, puts the comforter and a pillow on it so it just looks like a normal room. He picks up the cane he'd used on Brendon and he snaps it in half, then carries it, the laundry, and the strawberries downstairs.

He's shaking and he thinks he should probably eat, but the thought of food makes him want to throw up. He runs the laundry and tosses the cane in the trash and makes a list of the things in the fridge they're going to have to either eat or throw away before they leave for Vegas

He lets Bogart in and feeds him, gives him fresh water, then heads upstairs and, carefully so he doesn't wake Brendon, takes the ice packs off. He tucks the sheets back around Brendon's shoulders, then grabs their dirty laundry hamper and carts it downstairs.

He's done three loads of laundry and trimmed Bogart's nails and cleaned out the fridge and swept and mopped the kitchen floor and reorganized the pantry by the time he hears Brendon's feet on the stairs.

"Are there more strawberries?" Brendon asks with a yawn. He's wearing black track pants that hang low on his hips and one of Spencer's white button downs. The cuffs hang down past his wrists and Spencer fights the urge to roll them up and wrap his fingers tight around Brendon's wrists and then kiss the bruises.

"Bowl's in the fridge," Spencer says, checking his phone. Their vet can take Bogart for boarding starting Friday morning, no problem.

Brendon kisses the back of Spencer's neck on the way to the fridge, then comes back and wraps his arms around Spencer's waist and strokes his stomach and says, "Hey."

Spencer says, "I thought you wanted strawberries."

Brendon digs his chin to Spencer's shoulder and says, "What's going on?"

"Nothing. I'm just getting everything ready for when we leave, that's all."

"Bullshit," says Brendon.

"There's a lot to do," Spencer snaps.

"Maybe, but you should still stop being an asshole and tell me what's wrong."

"Me being an asshole is what's wrong," Spencer says. "Me, like, doing this fucked up shit to you--"

Brendon says, "I like the fucked up shit we do."

Spencer slips out of Brendon's grasp and heads into the living room. He starts picking up blankets and beer bottles, a Fender neck plate with two screws missing, and a really ugly necklace some company had sent him that's also a pretty decent drum key.

"Spencer," Brendon says softly, leaning against the wall and wrapping his arms around his waist. "Talk to me."

"About what?" Spencer snaps. "About how I just fucking hit you with a goddamn rattan cane? About how I just gave you welts that are going to last for days, maybe even longer, about how I made you bleed, about the way it turned me on to listen to you cry when I fucked you?"

"Yeah," says Brendon. "Let's talk about that."

"I never did anything bad enough to make you push me away before," Spencer says, looking down at the ugly necklace in his hands. It's antiqued pewter or something, a buzzard skull hanging on a tree. He says, "Who the fuck designs this shit?"

Brendon takes the necklace from him and says, "You didn't do anything bad."

"I saw you, Brendon. I saw the look in your eyes when you pushed me away. Like you couldn't stand for me to touch you."

"Or maybe like I was so overwhelmed with sensations that I felt like I was going to overload?"

"And the way you were crying, like...fuck. Like you were in despair. If I never have to hear that kind of anguish ever again, God. It broke me apart, okay? Listening to you sound like that, knowing it was my fault, that I was the one who'd broken you--"

Brendon says, "I'm not broken."

Spencer says, "I didn't know that. I just, you were crying and you couldn't stop and you sounded so miserable and, fuck, I hated it, I hated it so much." His eyes sting and he wipes at them quickly. "It was like listening to an animal in pain, when it's not their fault and they don't understand and there's nothing you can do to help them."

Brendon says, "Oh, well, shit," and moves forward to wrap his arms around Spencer's shoulders. He tugs Spencer down onto the couch and strokes his hair and kisses his temple. "You want some food?" he asks. "Some fizzy soda?"

"You don't have to--"

"Shut up. You're not the only nurturing one in this relationship, you know. And sometimes you're the one who needs a fucking glass of fizzy soda, okay?"

Spencer says, "Okay," and he closes his eyes and listens to Brendon moving around in the kitchen. He feels less terrible, but still not all right.

He opens his eyes when Brendon says, "Here," and he takes the highball glass from Brendon's hand. It's filled with something pale and bubbling, strawberry slices nestled between the ice cubes. Spencer takes a small sip, thinks it's probably apple juice mixed with ginger ale. He takes another sip and says, "Thanks."

"It would have been better with pineapple juice, but we didn't have any," Brendon says, curling up against Spencer and tugging gently on his hair.

Spencer drinks half of it and sets it on the coffee table. He pulls Brendon into his arms and feels better than he has in hours. He says, "I need to know what I did to overload you like that so I don't do it again."

Brendon says, "I don't know that it's anything you did, really. I maybe just needed to cry. It was exhausting at the time, wrung me out, but I feel good, now, like it washed a bunch of stuff away."

"And the rest of it? Like, I didn't give you a chance to think about it, I just said go."

Brendon smiles and wipes a stray tear off Spencer's cheek with his thumb. "That part was hot, the way you were all of a sudden just like, 'Go get ready for me.' And then, fuck, the way you pulled my hair? It was _all_ hot. God, though, when you were just dragging the flogger over my skin, I was so scared. It was everything I could do not to get up and run."

"I made you wait a long time. Was it too long?"

"No. I mean, yeah, I always want as little waiting as possible, but I promise, Spence, you didn't do anything wrong. The caning was," he shivers and presses closer. "Awful. And amazing. Even though you weren't hitting me very hard."

"Of course I was."

"Liar. I could tell, especially at the beginning, you weren't hitting me half as hard as you could."

"Didn't need to, did I?"

"No. Fuck, it was like, the stripe would come down and it hurt but then I'd think, 'He pulled back, he could have hurt me more,' and then the stripe would start to throb and sting, and, like, sink all the way down to my bones. And after you got halfway through, it was just, fuck, Spence. That's all I could feel and it ached and stung and I just, like, ramped right out of my body. I was still there, I didn't go flying the way I do sometimes, but it was like I could still feel the pain and then also look at it from the outside."

"Do you ever want to do it again?"

"Yes. And no. But mostly yes." Brendon twists against him, takes Spencer's hand and presses it between his legs. "I need you to touch me."

Spencer smiles and kisses his jaw and jerks him off slowly, making Brendon arch up into his touch, making him pant and beg for it, and after he comes Brendon licks Spencer's fingers clean and smiles smutty and content and says, "Thank you."

Friday morning, Spencer runs his hands over the welts on Brendon's ass and says, "You gonna be good to ride in the car all day?"

Brendon says, "Yeah, only a couple of spots still hurt except for, ow, okay, when you press on them like that."

Spencer says, "We'll bring a pillow for you to sit on."

They make the drive in a little under five hours, missing the worst of the weekend traffic and pulling into Spencer's parents' driveway around four in the afternoon.

Spencer's mom gives him a rib-crushing hug the second he walks into the house. She says, "I'm sorry I was such a jerk before."

Spencer says, "You weren't a jerk. Also, I need my lungs to breathe."

She lets go of him, only to turn and pull Brendon into a hug. He seems startled at first, but it only takes him a moment to wrap his arms around her and hug back.

When she pulls away, her eyes are a little shiny, and so are Brendon's. She puts a hand on the side of each of their faces and looks at them for a long moment before pulling away and clearing her throat. She says, "Your father's still at work and dinner's not until seven, so you have plenty of time to freshen up and rest after your drive. Was the traffic bad?"

"Only around Barstow," Spencer tells her, and picks up his suitcase.

When they're alone in Spencer's old room, Brendon says, "She's really putting us in the same room?"

Spencer kicks off his shoes and stretches out on his bed. It feels nice to close his eyes after the long drive from LA. "You were expecting separate bedrooms?"

"Honestly? Yeah." Brendon sits down on the edge of the bed. "I mean, nobody in my family ever got to share a room until they were married, you know? Especially not, well. Not that I ever brought a guy home or anything, but, yeah. Pretty sure that might have kicked off Armageddon."

Spencer squeezes Brendon's hand. He never knows what to say when it comes to Brendon's family, so he's settled for just always letting Brendon know he's there.

"But this is awesome," Brendon says, straddling Spencer's thighs. "I finally get to make out with you in your room."

"We've made out in here, like, a dozen times."

"High school doesn't count. Those were horrible make out sessions."

"Hey," Spencer says, affronted.

"Not the actual making out part, just the pretending I didn't also want to drop to my knees and suck your cock part. Being the gay kid trying to negotiate the waters of straight guys kissing was really confusing. Like, was I allowed to take your shirt off? And what if I got hard and you felt it? Or you got hard and I felt it, was I allowed to touch? It was pretty stressful, dude."

Spencer says, "And here I just thought I was getting free makeouts with a hot guy. Didn't realize it was freaking you out."

"Oh, don't get me wrong. It was fucking awesome and I loved it but, still, stressful. Plus it was just proof of what I already suspected, which was that I was into dudes way more than girls, and that was kind of rough."

"Seriously," Spencer says. "The whole time I was just wishing you were bi like me so we could jerk each other off."

"You thought I was straight?"

Spencer nods.

Brendon laughs and says, "I thought you were straight. Until we actually started jerking each other off. Then I thought maybe you were still straight, just on the road and horny and willing to take what you could get. It probably wasn't until the first time you blew me that I ever thought, 'Hey, maybe Spencer's a little bit into dudes.'"

"On that beach in Virginia," Spencer says fondly. "While everybody else was skinny dipping. That was a good time."

"Mmm," Brendon says in agreement. He curls up with his head on Spencer's chest, one leg thrown over Spencer's hips. "Do you remember London?"

Spencer trails his fingers up and down Brendon's arm and says, "Fuck, yeah. The official, like, let's-be-fuckbuddies conversation. I was a little disappointed that we seemed to fuck less after that instead of more."

"Well, we were actually talking about it, which made me feel weird. And you had a girlfriend. And I felt like a creep because I was attracted to you and you just wanted somebody to fool around with on tour."

"I wanted somebody _I was attracted to_ to fool around with on tour. Did you really think I wasn't into it?"

"I don't know. And plus, I was just starting to go to clubs, then, and, like, private play parties. I didn't want you to see it if I was bruised or marked up, didn't want you to ask questions, so I never started anything when I thought you'd be able to tell."

"To think of all the time we wasted," Spencer says, squeezing Brendon's shoulder. He's not too sad about it, though, since he thinks everything happened just the way it was supposed to. He probably wouldn't have been able to handle it if he'd been sixteen when Brendon had said, "I need you to hurt me," instead of twenty-one.

"Who else are we telling?" Brendon asks softly, toying with the button at Spencer's throat.

"I don't know. I don't really have a plan or anything. I just wanted my family to know. Anything else is going to be your call."

"I don't think I can tell my entire family," Brendon says.

Spencer says, "That's fine. I'm not down with, like, overt lies or anything, won't tell them that I have a girlfriend named Inga, but if it's just, like, not holding your hand in front of your mom, I can do that."

Brendon says, "I might tell her."

"Yeah?"

He nods. "Not anybody else. Fuck, _not_ my dad, but I think maybe. Even when I wanted to before, I couldn't because I was living, like, her worst nightmare, casual sex and dirty S &M clubs."

"I've never actually been to a dirty S&M club," Spencer says.

"There are a couple really good ones I'll take you to when we get home," Brendon tells him.

"Cool."

"But now I've got you, and she'll get that. Like, maybe she won't be able to wrap her head completely around it, but me being in love with you, that'll give her solid footing at least, something to hold on to."

Spencer hums sleepily and rubs Brendon's back.

"But I don't, like. I'm not planning on going over there this weekend. Just. Some day. I want to tell her some day."

Spencer says, "Okay," and turns his head so he can smell Brendon's warm skin.

He just means to rest his eyes, but he must sleep because sooner than he expects, his mother's knocking on his door, pushing it open and saying, "We need to leave in half an hour if we want to--oh."

Spencer says, "It would kill you to knock?"

She says, "Sorry. Habit. We still need to leave in half an hour if we want to make our reservation, though."

Spencer slides out from underneath Brendon. They weren't doing anything, are still fully clothed, but Brendon had been wrapped around him the way he likes to be when they nap, and Spencer's got a dark spot of drool spreading over the shoulder of his button-down.

As he pulls away, Brendon protests and tries to hold on to him, still mostly asleep. He never uses actual words when he's sleeping, just mumbles strings of consonants and vowels that sometimes resemble some sort of language. He clings to Spencer and mumbles something that sounds sad as Spencer pulls away.

Spencer's mother is smirking at him. "I see you're in the _can't bear to not be in constant physical contact_ phase of the relationship."

Spencer says, "Oh, my God."

"What? I remember those days. Your father and I--"

Spencer says, "Oh, my God, please stop talking. We'll be ready in half an hour, I swear."

She grins at him and says, "You've got drool on your shoulder."

Spencer shuts the door on her and says, "We've got a problem."

Brendon's pulling himself out of sleep and he blinks at Spencer a few times. "Are we late for dinner?" he asks, slowly pushing himself up to sitting and then swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"No, we've got half an hour to get ready."

Brendon nods and rubs his eyes. "What's the problem?"

"My mom thinks she's hilarious."

"She is pretty funny."

"You only say that because you've never had to listen to her tease you for, like, hours at a time."

Brendon reaches out and rubs Spencer's knee sleepily. "You're a big boy. You can take it."

They get to the restaurant at seven and the hostess seats them at a cozy little four top on the dimly lit patio. There are lanterns hanging in the tree branches and small, flickering candles and it's really fucking romantic. Spencer usually complains whenever he has to eat somewhere that's not brightly lit, but it's kind of nice to know that his parents won't be able to see it if he blushes.

He feels like they're watching everything he's doing, feels self conscious about things he would have always just done anyway, like letting Brendon walk in front of him or tucking down the tag sticking out of Brendon's shirt. He's never felt this nervous introducing someone to his parents, before, and they already know Brendon. He thinks maybe it's because this time, he actually knows how much it matters.

And his parents are being so weird. His mom's smiling at them all the time and his dad had clapped Brendon on the shoulder and said, "Spence is pretty lucky to have you, kid." He was expecting...he doesn't know. Something else. Some sort of drama or fight to prove to them that he and Brendon belonged together.

Brendon knocks his elbow against Spencer's and says, "Hey, they've got a Picpoul de Pinet, and I know how much you like wine that tastes like there's granite in it."

Spencer actually really does like wine that tastes like there's granite in it, so when the server comes around he orders a bottle to split with his mom while Brendon orders a dark beer and his father orders a Manhattan.

Dinner is great and they talk about all sorts of things. What was Brendon's spastic inability to stay quiet in high school has morphed into a charming enthusiasm over the years, and he's gracious and funny and he makes Spencer's parents laugh and tells them stories about touring that so neatly cut out any risqué bits that it takes Spencer a moment to remember that the reason they got lost in Seattle that time was because they'd been rolling on E.

Spencer's charmed, too. He tries not to be gross and gaze at Brendon adoringly or nuzzle his neck and try to make out with him in public, because he's just not that guy. But he feels a gentle warmth fill his belly, and he knows every time he looks over at Brendon he's got a sappy expression on his face, that every time Brendon smiles at him, he's smiling right back.

"So when did this all happen?" his mother asks, finally. Spencer knew the question was coming, but he's had a couple glasses of wine and his belly's full of crab ravioli and the server's bringing them coffee and blood orange sorbet, so he's a lot less worried about the questions than he had been.

"Officially?" Spencer asks, slipping his hand into Brendon's beneath the table. "In June, but--"

"April," Brendon says. "The night of my birthday."

"But we didn't officially decide that we were dating until June," Spencer says.

Brendon grins at him and says, "But we _were_ dating in April and May."

Spencer sighs and says, "Okay. Fine. April. Which maybe doesn't seem like long, I know, but..." he shrugs.

"It's kind of been building up forever," Brendon says, squeezing Spencer's hand.

"How many people have you told about this?" asks Spencer's father. He supposes the question could come off as rude, but he knows that's not how he means it. His father's just practical, and it's not an unreasonable thing to wonder.

"Just the two of you," Spencer says. "Probably we'll let some of our friends know, but not, like. We're not going to put out an official statement or anything. I don't," he says, then sighs. "I've never talked publically about who I'm dating because it's nobody's business. I just wanted you guys to know, and the girls, too, eventually, and the only other person that even matters is, well." He shrugs.

Brendon takes a quick sip of coffee and says, "He and Ryan still aren't talking."

"You aren't talking to him, either," Spencer says.

Brendon shrugs. "We used to go weeks without talking when we lived on the same bus, so this just feels kind of normal for me. But you guys never fought like that."

Spencer sighs and takes a bite of the sorbet. It's really good, just enough bitter to offset the sweet.

"So that's, like, our giant list of people we want to tell," Brendon says to Spencer's parents. "You, the twins, and Ryan if he ever comes out of radio silence."

"Radio silence," says Spencer's mother, "or maybe just a coke fueled haze. Six of one, half a dozen of the other, really."

Spencer snorts and almost gets sorbet up his nose. He says, "You're really not as funny as you think you are."

Brendon and Spencer's father say, "She's hilarious," at the same time, then grin at each other.

Spencer feels out of sorts on the drive home, feels drained and itchy and too big for his skin. When his mom suggests a movie, he begs off and heads upstairs. He stares at the ceiling for fifteen minutes, until Brendon knocks and peers inside. "You okay?"

"Fine," Spencer says, and he is. Everything went great. His parents are happy for him, dinner went even better than he imagined. He doesn't know what's wrong.

Brendon climbs onto the bed next to him and digs his chin into Spencer's collarbone. He only does it when he's trying to annoy Spencer or get his attention. Spencer thinks right now it might be both. "Ow," he says. "What?"

"Are you pissed off because you didn't get to fight for my honor?"

Spencer frowns and he wants to laugh and tell Brendon he's being ridiculous. Instead he says, "Maybe."

"So you're in this mood because instead of having to force your parents to accept us, they just accepted us on their own because they love you and trust you to make good decisions?"

Spencer says, "Well, it sounds stupid when you put it like that."

Brendon taps his chin against Spencer's collarbone a couple more times and says, "If it makes you feel any better, you're going to have to fight really hard to defend my honor if my family ever finds out."

Spencer squeezes his shoulder and says, "It doesn't, really."

"Does it make you feel better to know that all the sitting I've done today made my pretty little bottom throb and I spent half of dinner trying not to get hard and the rest of it just kind of rolling with it and hoping your mom didn't notice?"

Spencer can't help but grin. "Maybe a little bit."

"And what if I told you I want to play tonight?"

"We can't play with my parents down the hall," Spencer says, laughing. "I'm glad they know we're dating but I never, ever want them to know what kind of shit we get up to in bed."

"What if I told you I want us to make out like we did in high school? Only when I start pressing my dick against you, you make fun of me for getting hard and, well, you've got a good imagination, I'm sure you can make it dirty hot."

Spencer slides his hand into Brendon's hair and says, "Just let me lock the door."


	2. HS role play tag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer and Brendon pretend they're still in high school and their casual make out scenes suddenly become a lot more serious. The scene from the end of [Move Like Water, Break Like Waves](http://archiveofourown.org/works/271777).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for erotic humiliation and name calling

"You sure it's cool if I stay over?" Brendon asks. He's standing just inside the locked bedroom door, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt and looking around Spencer's room like he's never seen it before.

Spencer says, "Why wouldn't it be? Dude, mi casa es su casa. You're gonna have to share my bed, though. Ryan totally popped the air mattress last weekend."

"Probably with those elbows," Brendon mutters under his breath. Then he looks up at Spencer like he's about to get into trouble. "I, um, not that, I didn't mean--"

"His elbows are pretty pointy," Spencer says with a shrug. He pulls his shirt off over his head and strips down to his boxers. Neither he nor Brendon wear anything to bed unless it's really cold outside, but he thinks keeping the boxers on gives it more realism. He never would have just stripped down to nothing in front of Brendon in high school.

Brendon just stands in front of the door as Spencer climbs into bed. He fidgets with the hem of his shirt some more and shifts from foot to foot.

Spencer says, "You can go hang out downstairs if you're not tired. I'm exhausted, though. Just be quiet, okay? If you turn the TV on, make sure the volume's really low so you don't wake my parents."

Brendon says, "No, I. I'm totally tired." He takes a deep breath and pulls of his shirt, then turns his back when he unbuttons his pants. Spencer tries to remember if they ever shared a bed back in high school; he doesn't think they did.

Brendon strips down to his boxer briefs and turns off the light, then climbs into bed next to Spencer, staying close to the edge, being careful not to touch.

Spencer closes his eyes and tries to think of a smooth way to move them into making out. He can't, really, so he just does what he'd always done in high school. He takes a deep breath and rolls onto his side and says, "Hey."

"Hey," says Brendon softly. He turns so he's on his side, too.

"You seem kind of stressed out, lately," Spencer says. He'd said shit like that to Brendon all the time, partly because he'd always worried about it and partly because he'd always secretly wanted to give Brendon stress-relieving blowjobs.

"It's just," Brendon starts. He lets out a deep breath and says, "It's stupid. It's nothing. My parents are just. You know."

Spencer doesn't know, not really. Even now he only understands about half of the Urie family dynamic, and when they'd been in their teens he hadn't understood much at all. He says, "That sucks."

"Thanks," Brendon says softly.

Then Spencer leans forward and kisses him. That's about as smooth as he'd been back then. If there had been a lull in the conversation and he and Brendon had been alone and he thought Brendon might be up for it, he'd just leaned in and started kissing. Looking back, he thinks he should have caught on to the fact that Brendon was into guys a lot sooner; he'd never once been anything but enthusiastic when returning Spencer's kisses.

Brendon kisses him back shyly, which is not at all like Brendon had kissed in high school. Brendon had been all enthusiasm and bravado and bad technique.

Spencer rolls with it, though, pulls back and whispers, "Dude, seriously, you need to unwind, get your mind off shit. Let me help you."

Brendon sighs and nods, then leans in and kisses Spencer too hard, knocking their teeth together. That, Spencer remembers. He puts his hand on Brendon's cheek and rubs gently with his thumb, coaxes Brendon into slowing down, into parting his lips and letting Spencer's tongue slip over his.

He wants to roll Brendon over onto his back and grind against him, pin his wrists above his head and kiss him dirty slow until Brendon's shaking with need beneath him. Instead, he keeps their bodies apart, keeps the kisses soft and somehow innocent. They kiss until Spencer's lips start to tingle and they're both breathing hard and trying to hide it.

Then they hear his parents on the stairs, talking softly about the movie as they walk down the hall to their bedroom, and both Brendon and Spencer freeze. Brendon pulls away and rolls onto his back, and in the dim light coming from the streetlight outside, Spencer can see that he's got his eyes closed, hands gripping the sheets tight as he holds them to his chest.

Once he hears his parents' bedroom door close, Spencer waits another minute before reaching out to touch Brendon's shoulder. He expects to have to coax him into it, but Brendon turns towards him immediately at the touch and fists his hand in Spencer's hair and kisses him frantically.

Brendon's kisses are sloppy and a little desperate, and he curls his fingers over Spencer's shoulder. Spencer tries to slow him down, putting his hand on the side of Brendon's face and pulling back any time Brendon's kisses get too wild.

Their bodies slowly slide together, an inevitability in the small bed. Their bodies slide together and Spencer pulls back just a little bit, enough to ask, "Dude, is that...are you _hard_?"

"No," Brendon says quickly. He laughs, a forced, nervous laugh.

"It totally is. You are so turned on right now."

"Fuck you," Brendon grumbles, shoving against his chest. He rolls onto his side with his back to Spencer.

Spencer wonders what sixteen year-old him would have done. Probably just gone to sleep, frustrated and confused.

He says, "You were totally rubbing your dick against my thigh just now."

"I'm really tired," Brendon says, curling in on himself. "Let's just go to sleep, okay?"

"Show me," Spencer whispers. "Let me see how turned on you are."

Brendon takes a shaky breath, a real shaky breath, not pretend. He says, "No. That's. I can't."

"Pull your pants down and show me," Spencer says. "Let me see how hard your dick gets when you kiss me."

Brendon takes a deep breath and rolls onto his back. His eyes are closed tight as he shifts and wiggles under the covers. He drops his underwear over the side of the bed.

"Now pull the sheets down."

"Spencer," Brendon whispers. "I _can't_."

"Do it," Spencer says. "If you get hard every time we make out--"

"I _don't_ ," Brendon whines.

"If you get hard every time we make out, if you've been, like, fucking perving on me this whole time, I think I deserve to see what I do to you."

Brendon shoves the sheets down, first to his waist, then down to the middle of his thighs. His cock is hard against his belly, and Spencer can't quite make it out in the near-darkness, but he knows the tip is flushed dark red. He can tell from the way Brendon's eyes are closed, from the fists clenched at his sides and from the way his breathing comes in soft, shaky pants that he's blushing.

It's not at all the way it had gone the first time Spencer had realized that Brendon got hard when they made out. The actual first time he'd realized it, he'd just shoved his thigh between Brendon's legs and they'd kissed frantically and rutted against each other and then been unable to make eye contact for a week.

"Jesus Christ," Spencer says. "You're, like, rock hard right now. Fuck. You know, you should really fucking warn a guy that you're queer before you make out with him."

"I'm not," Brendon says weakly. "I'm not, Spence, I swear."

Spencer leans in, presses his lips to Brendon's ear. "Do you like knowing that I'm looking at your cock?" he asks in a whisper.

"Yes."

"Do you want me to touch it?"

Brendon's hips roll. "Please," he whimpers.

Spencer says, "That wasn't an offer, dude. I was just trying to figure out how gay you really are. Pretty gay, huh?"

"No," Brendon whispers. "I'm not."

"Really? Because your cock got rock fucking hard from kissing me, and now I'm just looking at it and it's driving you crazy."

Brendon takes a quick, shaky breath. He says, "No. It's not like that."

"It's not like what? You're not a faggot?"

He thinks maybe that was going too far, but Brendon twists and bites his lower lip hard and his cock twitches against his belly.

Spencer presses his lips to Brendon's ear again. "Say it, Brendon. Tell me the fucking truth. I'm letting you stay here in my bed, so I think I deserve to know the truth."

Brendon says, "Please, Spence, it's not like that, I promise that it's not. I just. I just get hard sometimes, okay? I just get turned on."

"With dudes. Fuck, you probably jerk off every night thinking about getting fucked in the ass."

"I don't," Brendon whispers, and he's close to tears. "Fuck, Spence, I swear I don't, I swear--"

"Don't fucking lie to me," Spencer says, and he slides his hand over Brendon's chest and pinches his nipple. He pinches hard, until Brendon arches up into the pain, and then he twists. When he lets go, Brendon's hips are rolling and he's running his hands up and down his thighs, though he never touches his cock.

"Fuck," says Spencer. He's trying to sound horrified, but he knows he mostly sounds turned on. "You liked that."

Brendon shakes his head.

"You're seriously twisted, aren't you?"

Brendon says, "Please."

"Please what? Jesus. Please stop or please do it again?" He rolls Brendon's nipple between his fingers. "Do you like it because you have sensitive nipples or do you like it because it hurts?" He pinches hard and twists and Brendon gasps.

"Both," Brendon whispers. "Fuck, fuck, Spence, feels so good. You have no idea. You have no idea how good it feels when you do that."

Spencer says, "You really are fucking queer, aren't you?"

Brendon whispers, "Yes, God, fuck. Spencer, please, so fucking good. I think about, God. I think about this when I jerk off. I think about you hurting me."

Spencer says, "Jesus Christ," and pulls his hand away like he's horrified.

Brendon closes his eyes and whispers, "Please. You can't. If you keep looking at me, I need. Fuck, Spencer, can I just. I'll just go to the bathroom, okay? I'll just go and then I'll, like, I'll sleep on the couch. I won't come back, I promise."

"You want to go jerk off in my bathroom?" Spencer asks. "I share that with my little sisters, you sick fucker."

"Not," Brendon says. "I'm sorry. I just. If you keep looking at me like this I'm not going to be able to. I have to touch myself."

Spencer says, "Don't you fucking dare."

Brendon makes a soft, miserable sound in the back of his throat.

"Tell me what you think about when you jerk off," Spencer says.

"Please."

"Tell me, and don't fucking touch yourself."

Brendon's chest rises and falls unsteadily with his breath. "I think about you holding me down," he whispers. "I think about you slapping me. Spanking me. Pinching my nipples and the insides of my thighs. I think about you marking me."

"And that shit gets you off?"

Brendon nods.

"You're seriously fucked in the head, Brendon."

"I know," Brendon whimpers. "I know how dirty I am, Spence. I know and I like it."

"You can touch your cock, but you don't come until I say," Spencer says.

Brendon sighs with relief as he wraps the fingers of his right hand around his cock and starts to stroke.

"Is this what you do when you're home alone? Jerk yourself off just like this?"

Brendon shakes his head. He says, "Usually, I, fuck, Spence."

"Stop," says Spencer, putting his hand on Brendon's arm.

Brendon whimpers, but he takes his hand away.

"Tell me what you usually do."

"I hurt myself," Brendon whispers. He slides his hand over his belly but doesn't touch his cock, just presses down on his stomach right above his navel.

"How?" Spencer asks, and he can't keep from touching Brendon's leg, running his fingers up and down his soft inner thigh.

"Rubber bands," Brendon says. "Like, I snap them against my skin, against my nipples and my cock. And I wrap them around my balls and it hurts so much but, fuck, it feels so good."

"What else do you do?"

"Clothespins. They're the fucking best invention ever. They hurt so much when you put them on, and even more when you take them off."

"Where do you put them?" Spencer asks. "On your nipples?"

Brendon nods. "All over. Up and down my sides. On the insides of my thighs. On my balls and my cock. And wax. Hot wax. I buy the unscented white candles so they won't stain anything, feel so dirty, like everybody knows what I'm going to use them for. I drip them all over myself, my cock and my nipples and even my asshole."

"Do you do anything else with the candles?"

Brendon takes a shaky breath. He says, "Can I touch myself?"

"No," Spencer says. "Tell me what else you do with the candles."

"I fuck myself with them," Brendon admits, arching his hips up off the bed. "I started with just the little tapers, but now, fuck, the one I use now is so fucking thick."

"Do you think about having a cock in your ass when you do it?" Spencer asks.

"Yeah," Brendon admits breathlessly.

"Who do you want to fuck you, Brendon?"

"You," Brendon whispers, squirming, hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Fuck, Spencer, let me touch myself."

"What in the hell makes you think that I'd ever fuck you?" Spencer asks.

"I don't," Brendon whispers. "I know you wouldn't ever, but I want it so much."

Spencer says, "What will you do for me if I fuck you? You want it so bad, what are you willing to give me if I do it?"

"Anything," Brendon gasps. "Anything. You can fuck me whenever you want. You can fuck my ass or my mouth, I don't care. You can do whatever you want to me. If you want to punish me for being a faggot, you can do that. Just, God, anything. Slap me or choke me or hold me down and spit on me. Anything you want, just please, please, I need you to fuck me."

Spencer says, "On your belly."

Brendon rolls over quickly.

Spencer pushes up and kneels between his legs. He pushes his boxers down to mid-thigh, spits in his hand and rubs it over his cock. His breath stutters when he sees the welts across Brendon's ass, most of them fading but a couple bruising dark purple-blue. He slides his fingers over them and smiles when Brendon shivers.

"You do this a lot?" Spencer asks, tugging his underwear off before kneeling between Brendon's legs. "You just fucking roll over and let any guy who wants it fuck you?"

"I've never," Brendon says. "I want it so bad, but nobody's ever fucked me. Nobody wants to fuck me."

Spencer spits into his hand and rubs it over his cock, then slides the spit-slick tip over Brendon's asshole. He leans down and whispers, "I'm going to fuck you. And you're going to be my little fuck slut, right? I give you this, you give me whatever I want."

"Anything. Just, please, please, I need it."

Spencer usually uses more than just spit to fuck him, but they have done it before and he knows how slowly to go. He eases himself in, pulls out and spits again for a little more slick. It's rough and there's too much friction and it's reckless and it feels perfect. He doesn't worry about making it good, just presses his way inside and jerks his hips in small, desperate thrusts.

He blankets his body over Brendon's, kisses the back of his neck and whispers, "You feel so fucking good, Bren. Is it good for you? You like the way I'm fucking you?"

Brendon shivers and nods and winds his fingers through Spencer's where they're gripping the sheets. "So good, Spence."

"I'm gonna do this all the time," Spencer tells him. "I'm gonna fuck you before school, before practice. I'm gonna come in your ass and you're going to feel me dripping out of you all day long. And if you're really good, I might even hurt you. You think I can make those rubber bands hurt even worse than you do? You think, mmm, what do you think my drumsticks would feel like against your skin?"

Brendon whispers, "Please, please, please let me come."

"Did I say you could rub off against the bed?" Spencer asks, slamming his hips forward.

Brendon gasps and his fingers clutch at the sheets. "I'm sorry," he whispers. I'm sorry, Spence, fuck, I can't help, the way you're fucking me, I can't _not_."

"Did I ask you to give me excuses?"

"No," says Brendon. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Spencer bites his lip because it's nearly impossible to stop, but he does. He stops and he pulls out and he rubs his thumb over Brendon's hole.

Brendon lifts his hips and spreads his legs wider, whimpering softly.

If they were alone in the house, Spencer would give him a good, hard spanking. But they're not alone; his parents are three doors down so they can't be loud. He pushes himself up, sits on his heels, hauls Brendon back so he's on his hands and knees, cock no longer pressed between his belly and the mattress.

"I'm sorry," Brendon whimpers. "Please, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to--"

Spencer flicks his middle finger against the back of Brendon's balls as hard as he can.

Brendon gasps and in the moonlight Spencer can see him biting down on his fist to stay quiet.

Spencer says, "I didn't say that you could get off."

"I know," Brendon whispers. "I know, I'm sorry."

"What do you think your punishment should be?"

"Anything. Anything you want. Just, please--"

Spencer flicks his balls again, nail landing flat and hard against the tender skin with a snap.

Brendon makes a soft sound in the back of his throat. His hips are rolling and he's arching back towards Spencer like all he can think about is Spencer fucking him again. When Spencer slides off the bed, Brendon whimpers unhappily.

Spencer knows right where the lube is in his suitcase. He pops the latch and finds the bottle easily in the dark, then comes back to kneel between Brendon's legs. He pops the top open, and Brendon shivers at the sound.

"Okay," Spencer says, dripping lube over his cock and spreading it around with his fist. He drips more on his fingers and slides it over Brendon's ass, then works it inside. "You can come, but you can't touch your fucking cock, Brendon. I don't want you jerking off in my fucking bed, but if you can come just from me fucking you, then all right."

Brendon takes a deep breath, then another. He nods and says, "Okay. Okay, Spence, please."

Spencer smiles and bites back a groan as he slides into Brendon. He likes it best when it's slick, when he can slide in without too much friction, when he feels free to fuck Brendon as hard as he wants.

He doesn't fuck hard, though. He bites his lip and makes himself concentrate on keeping each stroke slow and steady. Brendon tries to thrust back against him, but Spencer holds his hips in place so he can't.

"I need--" Brendon starts.

"You need exactly what I'm willing to give you," Spencer snaps. "Jesus Christ, Brendon. I'm already fucking you, what more do you want? Do you want me to just stop? Because if you're going to keep pushing for shit, I'll just stop. I'm already going along with your weird fucking desires, okay?"

"I know," Brendon says. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean--" He chokes off a groan as Spencer snaps his hips forward.

"Should have just made you suck me off," Spencer tells him, letting himself fuck into Brendon faster. "Should have just tied your hands behind your back and made you suck my cock so you couldn't even fucking enjoy it. Or would you? Would you enjoy it if I shoved my dick down your throat?"

"Yeah," Brendon whispers. His breath is shaky, coming in the high-pitched, short pants that mean he's getting close.

"You know what that fucking makes you?" Spencer asks.

"A cocksucker," Brendon moans softly. "I'm a cocksucker. I'm a fucking faggot cocksucker, oh, God, Spencer, please, please, fuck me harder."

"Gonna tell Ryan about this," Spencer says. "Gonna tell Brent. We're all going to fuck you, all three of us, just bend you over and take turns, make you our whore. You want that?"

"Yes. God."

Spencer tilts his hips, knows the angle Brendon likes best, knows exactly the speed Brendon needs to be able to come without touching himself. He fucks into Brendon hard and just right and presses his mouth to the back of Brendon's neck. "Come for me, you little faggot. Fucking whore. Come for me."

Brendon comes, going suddenly still and silent, choking back his groans and trembling just the tiniest little bit. Spencer fucks into him harder and closes his eyes and thinks about Brendon taking everything Spencer's willing to give, and soon he's slamming his hips forward and biting down on Brendon's shoulder to muffle the cry that wants to escape.

He pulls out slowly, then rolls onto his back and breathes, stares up at the ceiling of his childhood bedroom. He scoots over a little bit so that Brendon can curl up against him without lying in the wet spot, and he strokes Brendon's bare shoulder and kisses the top of his head.

"So fucking good," he whispers, pulling Brendon even closer.

Brendon says, "Yeah," and slides his leg up so that his thigh is draped over Spencer's hips.

Spencer strokes Brendon's shoulder and down his arm and breathes. Brendon's fingers are gentle against his collarbone, tapping lightly in what Spencer knows is a melody in Brendon's head.

Once he's caught his breath, Spencer asks, "You okay?"

Brendon nods. "Mmm. Was I okay? Was it good?"

Spencer laughs softly and squeezes Brendon tight. "You were amazing. You're always amazing."

Brendon hums happily and takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly and sinks against Spencer's body. "It would have blown my mind if you'd done that in high school."

Spencer grins and strokes his hand down Brendon's sweaty back, scratches between his shoulder blades. "I couldn't have handled that back when we were in high school. I was still pretty freaked out by how hard sadism got me off. You never see normal people on TV or in movies into shit like that, so I was terrified I'd end up being an abusive boyfriend or a rapist or something."

Brendon snorts against his shoulder. "Fat chance. I can't even get you to rape me when I ask for it."

Spencer runs the tips of his fingers up and down Brendon's spine. "Besides, if I'd actually said that shit to you in high school, you wouldn't have known that I didn't mean it."

"Well, I am really a cocksucker," Brendon says, and Spencer can feel him smiling against his chest. " _And_ a faggot."

"Yeah, but now you know that I am, too. And you know I'm in love with you and think you're the fucking hottest guy ever."

"Ever, huh?" Brendon sounds amused. He yawns and sighs. "That covers, like, millions and millions of years of human history."

Spencer says, "I've never needed to touch anybody the way I need to touch you. And now you know that. If I'd said terrible thing to you back then, you would have thought I was serious."

"Wouldn't have been as much fun that way," Brendon admits. "I probably still would have gotten off really hard, though. Just, you know. Felt like shit after."

"Never want you to actually feel like shit," Spencer says. He's been trying not to yawn ever since Brendon did, but he finally gives in. "You have to," he yawns again. "To tell me if I ever actually, you know. Shame you."

"Mmm," says Brendon. He's stroking his fingers over Spencer's collarbone and throat. "Like the way it twists in my belly," he whispers. "Makes me feel so fucking sexy and slutty and just...yeah." He turns and tips his face up and says, "Kiss me."

Spencer rolls to the side and presses his mouth to Brendon's. Their tongues slide together lazily, and Spencer smiles when Brendon yawns in the middle of it.

He thinks he want to do it again, play around like they're in high school and it's their first time. He wants to give Brendon a sweet and playful first time, a dirty need-to-fucking-come first time, all the first times Brendon can think of.

Brendon yawns, then goes back to kissing, and holding Brendon in his arms and tasting his hot, wet mouth are the last things Spencer remembers before he falls asleep.


End file.
